Chapter Nine: October, 1944, London
Arty, Jean, Jim and Sissy had arrived at the dance hall early, which was as well: Arty’s knee was still causing him considerable trouble, and it looked like he would not be able to dance after all. Fortunately, their early arrival meant they were able to claim a settee to themselves, and they had chosen one near the door so they didn’t miss Joshua’s arrival.
Whilst Jim and Sissy went to purchase drinks, Jean took the opportunity to share her thoughts with Arty.
“It’s perfectly all right if we don’t dance tonight. I would much rather you rested up for now than cause yourself permanent damage.”
“Thanks, Jean. I wish I could say you are fussing over nought, but I can barely stand, let alone waltz. However, I had a thought. If the organisers are amenable to the idea, why don’t you and Jim dance tonight?”
“I couldn’t do that to you, Arty.”
“Why not?”
“It wouldn’t be fair. You and I are partners.”
Arty laughed and took Jean’s hand in his. “Perhaps if it were anyone else, I would feel differently about them dancing with you in our contest. But this is Jim. The man I intend to spend the rest of my life with, even if that means going to prison, or being subjected to medical treatments. I hadn’t realised how much I’d missed him until today. I love him, Jean, and nothing would delight me more than watching the two of you dance together.”
Jean’s smile could have lit up the entire of London, blackout curtains be damned. “You know there will be no stopping them back at Minton when they hear Jim and I danced together?”
“We could really throw a spanner in the works and have him dance with Sissy. Would you look at the pair of them?”
Jean and Arty both glanced over to the bar, where Jim was laughing at something Sissy had said. They were already thick as thieves, and now Arty knew he and Jim had both Sissy’s and Joshua’s blessing, it made anything seem possible. Indeed, just a few hours of Jim’s company stole away all the troubles of the world, and Arty could almost forget they were at war.
When Jim and Sissy returned with the drinks, Jim met Arty’s gaze and held it, with no recourse to words, for each understood the other well enough without.
“How would you feel about taking my place this evening?” Arty asked.
“The waltz? I don’t know if—”
“Please, Jim?” Jean interrupted. “I’ll even jitterbug with you later.” She blew him a kiss.
“Who ever could refuse a beautiful woman?” Jim laughed. “I’ll go talk to the judges.”
Jim temporarily excused himself, leaving Arty at the mercy of his older sister.
Sissy sat down next to him and gave him a big delighted smile. There was quite a crowd in by now, and she turned towards him and leaned close so that she could speak more freely.
“Jim is wonderful, Arty. If I could have picked a man for you, my choice would have been just as yours.”
“So you approve?” he asked, fighting to contain his grin.
She hugged him. “Most definitely. I have a present for you both, incidentally.”
Arty eyed her suspiciously. “What kind of present? If it’s another of your signor’s distasteful publications…”
Sissy laughed at that. “Well…” she said, continuing the joke a little longer, although she had only once sent Arty a book from her employer’s collection, and it was quite tame. Tedious, in fact, he’d concluded, before reaching the end of the first chapter, and he’d instantly forgotten everything about it, including the title and the author; suffice to say, it was not one of D H Lawrence’s. Nor was it the wonderful story of Oswald and Imre, which he secretly preferred to all of D H Lawrence’s works put together, though he dared not tell Sissy that.
While Arty had been musing literature, his sister had become quite thoughtful and serious, feigning interest in the couples taking to the dance floor.
“Bad news, Sissy?” Arty prompted, for he could see she wished to tell him something that she thought he would not like.
“Not bad news,” she assured him. “I have moved back to Signor Adessi’s.”
Arty remained silent. Sissy glanced his way. From her expression she seemed to be expecting some kind of telling off, but he knew how much she’d hated having to return home. Their father was a difficult man. Still, Arty was none too happy to hear his sister was living in London, of all places.
Compelled to defend her decision, Sissy justified, “There have been no air raids over that side of the city since forty-two.”
“Well that’s something,” Arty said. “Do Mum and Dad know you’re here?”
Sissy shook her head. “They think I’m in Kent. Antonio is paying me an allowance to look after his houses. It’s not much, but it’s sufficient for my needs. I have only to feed myself.”
“Hmm. Antonio now? Not Signor Adessi?”
“Oh, hang it all.” Sissy covered her face with her hands and giggled girlishly.
It both amused and delighted Arty, for he’d always thought his sister and her employer would make a wonderful couple. Signor Adessi saw the best in Sissy, and he treated her well. Even with a home as grand as his, he did not need a housekeeper, cook, gardener and two chambermaids, but he refused to let Sissy perform the more menial duties, choosing instead to put her keen mind to good use. Visitors already called her la signora; to Arty, the prospect of Antonio and Sissy becoming wed one day was worthy of celebration, and he reached for his drink to offer a toast. His knee shifted painfully, making him curse.
“Stay there,” Sissy said. She passed him his beer, and he held it up in front of him.
“To the future Signora Adessi,” he said.
Jean had been listening quietly to their conversation, and she and Sissy raised their glasses, the three of them clanging together, just as Jim returned.
“We celebratin’?” he asked.
“We are indeed,” Arty confirmed.
Jim shrugged and picked up his glass. “Here’s to…”
“Sissy and her signor.”
“All right!” Jim tapped his glass against Sissy’s, and then Jean’s, and finally Arty’s. “And here’s to us,” he murmured.
“To us,” Arty whispered. “Sissy’s got a present for us, she says.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” Sissy confirmed. “It’s a surprise. Just wait and see.”
Jim gave Arty a questioning frown.
“Who knows?” Arty said. Knowing his sister it could be anything. However, for now they were to be left in suspense, as the contest was about to begin, and Jean and Jim made their way onto the dance floor. Joshua arrived in the nick of time, and Arty quickly introduced him to Sissy. The waltz began, with the three of them watching in nervous silence, keeping their eyes on Jean and Jim as much as was possible. Arty was enraptured, but it was difficult to see from the low-down settee. With a struggle and a lot of support from Sissy and Joshua, he got to his feet, leaning on Sissy’s shoulder, with Joshua’s arm supporting his back.
“It’s dreadfully swollen,” Sissy observed.
Arty looked down at his knee, so enlarged the fabric of his trousers formed a taut band around his leg. “I’ll see the doctor when I get back to Minton,” he promised, returning his attention to Jim and Jean.
They danced very well, especially for a couple who had only rarely danced together in the past, but even Arty’s love-blinkered eyes could see there were others far more accomplished out on the dance floor.
“You’re a better dancer,” Sissy told him, as if she had been privy to his thoughts.
“At the waltz, perhaps. Wait until you see him jiving.”
The waltz came to an end, and where Arty and Jean would usually have continued into the next dance, on this occasion a foxtrot, Jim and Jean left the dance floor and returned to the settees. The Johnson brothers greeted each other with a warm embrace and a silent conversation. To whatever Joshua said, Jim nodded and then eyed Arty’s knee, his face showing
his concern.
“How’s it holding out?”
“It’s not.” Arty attempted to hop backwards and get closer to the settee in order to sit down again, but lost his balance. Jim instinctively grabbed him, holding on until he was safely seated.
“One day I’ll get to waltz with you, Arty Clarke,” Jim whispered close to Arty’s ear.
Arty breathed in deeply, suppressing the wave of desire resulting from Jim’s proximity and his scent. It left him in something of a daze, which was brought to a timely end by the dangling of a key right in front of his face. He turned to his sister and frowned.
“What’s the meaning of this?”
“The present I mentioned. Which hotel are you staying in? I’ll take your room.”
“I beg your pardon?”
Sissy sighed in exasperation. “This—” she took Arty’s hand and pressed the key to his palm, folding his fingers around it “—is the key to the Dalton Place. You have it all to yourselves.”
“You…” Arty’s voice failed him as excitement and embarrassment overcame his senses. Part of him was utterly terrified by what Sissy was conspiring to bring about, and he felt as if all of his desires were exposed to the entire patronage of the dance hall, but he wanted this. He wanted a night with Jim in his arms. He took the key and wrapped Sissy in a tight hug. “Thank you,” he said, doing his best not to cry. “I love you, Sis.”
“I love you too, Arty,” Sissy said, patting his arm maternally. She looked up at Jim’s statue-like form. “Sergeant Johnson, I believe you’re needed on the dance floor.”
Jim blinked a few times, as if shaking himself from a trance. Only then did he and Arty notice Jean was no longer sitting with them. She was already up and waiting for Jim to join her. Jim looked back at Sissy and nodded once in thanks, before dashing across to Jean, arriving just as the band began to play, and all of a sudden the room sprang to life.
Women flew into the air, or slid across the floor on their backs and were swept to their feet only to do the whole thing over again. The vantage point from the settee was, on this occasion, excellent, with a clear view of Jim and Jean’s antics.
“Gracious me!” Sissy laughed. “I’m breathless just watching them.”
Arty nodded, transfixed once again by the handsome blonde American airman who had captured his attention ten months ago and would keep it forever.
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When Skies Have Fallen Page 14